An Affair II
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Had Roderich Edelstein realized the silence those eight words would have caused when uttered to Basch earlier, he would have made better use of them. / Austria/Switzerland with background Austria/Hungary and Sweden/Hungary among other Austria pairs, late 19th century.


Author's note: Austria/Switzerland with background Austria/Hungary and Sweden/Hungary among other Austria pairs, late 19th century. Austria's no fool and I've been craving writing this pair again too, so I put the two ideas together. Besides, ship Austria with all the countries! Companion piece is **An Affair I**, Sweden/Hungary.

* * *

**An Affair II**

"Where has your wife gone?" Antonio asks innocently.

"Wherever she wishes," Roderich replies lazily, sipping his drink. Francis laughs lightly; Basch pulls a face. "Why not go entertain yourself with the Italians, until she returns?" Though his words might have sounded harsh to another, the Austrian and Spaniard both know they are well intentioned; that the love they once shared, during their marriage, still resides somewhere in their hearts.

"My, my, your former spouse is worried for your current one," Francis observes, moving to close their small circle at three as Antonio wonders off. Basch, who had surprised all in attending the event (insisting he had been dragged by a certain Belgian and Monegasque), simply tuts. "I'm sure," the Frenchman schmoozes, "our Swiss companion knows that feeling."

Though Basch remains silent, eyes glaring at Francis's kindly face, Roderich knows that internally he is cursing the man in at least three languages.

"Well," and Francis downs the rest of his drink, smiling at his once-enemy, "I shall leave you to our happy neighbor now, my dear Roderich. We can discuss matters of state tomorrow, if I can find my clothes in the morning."

"I pray God assists you in the search," the Austrian empire murmurs. Now the odd pair is left, their fellow nations milling about in the room. A few pairs dance but the men greatly outnumber the women, making this more an excuse to meet without victors and losers of war.

The Swiss republic stares at Roderich.

"What?" he asks, exacerbated and rolling his eyes. Basch knew enough of who he had been as a child to make attempts at seeming gentlemanly and refined unnecessary.

"Are you really not worried?" Basch demands.

Roderich shrugs, looking around the room before whispering, "My Swedish cousin is missing." When his companion raises an eyebrow the Austrian elaborates. "He is off having sex with my wife."

Had Roderich Edelstein realized the silence those eight words would have caused when uttered to Basch earlier, he would have made better use of them.

"How are you so calm about this‽" the Swiss man finally demands.

"They have been having an affair through correspondence for years," Roderich admits offhand, "and I have never seen it fit to stop them. This is the first time Erzsébet has touched another since our wedding; I thought it fit to allow her an evening with another man, even if she does not think I know." Because the Hungarian held him in high-enough esteem to still believe Roderich a man of honor, a man he was not. "Do not worry yourself, Sebastian–"

"Don't call me that!"

"–it is quite alright. I have had many affairs through the centuries as well, and continue my letters with former lovers as well." (Beautiful Camille smiles at him in that moment.) "Even if I have never strayed from my wedding vows, to any spouse." Never to Antonio, to Erzsébet, to the mortals- not even to Francis whom he hadn't been truly married to, for those few brief years when they had been happy.

A long moment passes and Roderich almost forgets that Basch is beside him, so used to the man's presence in his life, so comfortable beside him.

A hand takes his.

Barely audible, the Swiss nation whispers, "Perhaps it is time you strayed."

* * *

In the private study Basch rocks on his lap, Roderich seated comfortably in his reading chair. They stroke themselves together, the heat of the room building, sweat running down their naked forms. It's been years and years since they've done this; the Austrian sometimes wonders is Basch takes mortal lovers to fill his time before he remembers that the Swiss man had never been a prisoner to sex as their fellow nations were. As he himself is.

They moan simultaneously.

Basch, his face buried in the crook of Roderich's neck, has been non-stop muttering in a barrage of languages. What Roderich understands is all sentimental; what he doesn't, he comprehends regardless:

These were confessions, things left unsaid for too long.

With his free hand Roderich grabs Basch by his blond hair, crushing their lips together. Tongues fight for supremacy, nothing elegant to their movement now though it is more fluid than the first time they'd done this. And they last longer as well, coming with a loud shout from Basch and soft groan from Roderich.

Pulling the Swiss man flat to his chest, not caring for the mess they had become, Roderich kisses his shoulder, staring into the fire.

"Grrveou," Basch says against his skin.

"I love you too."

* * *

Arthur escorts Erzsébet back to him, the woman smiling. And Roderich is truly grateful that she is happy, even if he had not been the one to give her that joy.

For had he not tried to explain, centuries earlier upon her request, why he took so many lovers?

Each one was different.

Each one was unique.

And their kind grew bored with monotony.

Their kind needed more love than one person could ever give.


End file.
